


Seedling

by LectorEl



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: D/s, Dubious Consent, No sex but I can't say it's NOT porn, Other, Tim is a pretty sub, suicidal impulses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LectorEl/pseuds/LectorEl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim hits bottom, and goes looking for a way out. Ivy obliges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seedling

He comes to die. Ivy can see it in his eyes, too bright and too dark at once with the peculiar madness of self-destruction. Dressed for his funeral, in a uniform no longer his own. Oh yes, Ivy can see why he has come, past the flimsy mask of composure he wears.

Poor boy, left with so little. Not even a name. Even Ivy has heard, of deaths and betrayals and the sort of loneliness that kills slowly, like lead-contaminated soil. He comes to her wrapped in dumb animal hurt, and Ivy remembers a boy. A bird. One who cared. Who tried so hard. Who, it seemed, had loved unwisely, and was paying the price.

“Robin,” She says, winding her arms around his thin shoulders. His flinch is too small and too weak for the bird that once fought her. They’ve clipped his wings.

“Ivy,” he replies, his voice a sigh, not fighting as she pulls him back against her. “How are your charges?”

“Well enough, little bird,” Ivy tells him, tugging his hair gently until his face tilted up towards hers. Confusion is blooming in the bright-dark madness of his eyes, apathy wilting beneath it. Even the stupor of despair will not hold off his suspicion for much longer.

But she only needs a moment. The seed hidden in the palm of her hand is hard and sharp-edged, and it slices through the skin of his neck easily, nestling into cartilage of one of his spinal discs. His mouth falls open in a pained cry, body going tense. Ivy supports his weight easily, kissing the distressed curve of his mouth and swallowing the sound. Her toxin acts quickly, as it always does. He goes limp, sagging into Ivy’s hold.

She wraps an arm around his waist, supporting his head with her other. Vines curl over and around his limp form, twining delicately around his neck and shoulders. His eyelids flutter in distress, throat working soundlessly. She coos, petting scarred skin, waiting for him to calm.

“Shh. This is only the start,” she promises when the last of the fight goes out of him. She kisses him once more, on the forehead, and releases him to the vines.

He came to her to die, and that makes his life hers, to do what she wills.

***

Days later, her darlings rustle, confusion stirring them to attention. Ivy smiles.

“Hello, seedling.”

A hesitant pause, and then Ivy hears bare feet pad into the lushly wooded area to stand beside her.

“Ivy,” Robin says, voice breaking. She turns, in time to see him lick dry, cracking lips. “What did you do?”

“You know the answer to that,” she says, voice fond, and wipes away a smear of thin green blood seeping from the cracked skin at the corner of his mouth. She can see the effort it takes for him not to lean into the touch, the way he trembles and shivers when she pulls away.

“You need water,” she tells him, and holds out her hand. “Come here.” Robin starts toward her, automatic as breathing, and forces himself to stop.

“Ivy, I can’t. I’m-“

She cuts him off. “Mine, seedling. Can’t you feel it?”

“…Yes,” he whispers.

“Come to me,” she repeats, still patiently holding out her hand. Robin takes one step toward her, and another. She waits for him, until at last he lays his hand in hers.

“Good boy.” Ivy pulls him close, wrapping him up in her, in vines and the scent of green and growing things. Tucked up close, head against her shoulder, she can the green tint growing in his irises, humanity fading with the blue of his eyes. “Be still. You’re young yet.”

“Yes, Ivy,” he says, resistance fading now that he was once again in contact with her skin. He looks up at her pleadingly. “Water?”

She smiles, and lifts the pitcher plant to his lips. He swallows gratefully.

***

Robin curls up tight, like a morning glory closing in the afternoon heat. “You’ll be back soon?”

“Very soon, seedling,” Ivy promises, running an absent-minded hand down the bare skin of his back. “Be good.”

“Yes, Ivy,” Robin says, nodding. Ivy knows he won’t move from his spot until she returns. He’s such an obedient creature. It’s one of her favorite things about him.


End file.
